Everything to Dust
by de-anon
Summary: "Dust did not dance in the light here, but floated as if transfixed. Perhaps caught in time and unwilling to settle down and die." Prumano AU, request.


Vocab practice challenge. 8 words drawn randomly from a stack of GRE vocab and incorporated in a story. I let the group of words decide the storyline. (You can probably guess which words are from the stack pretty easily). Anyhow, have some Prumano AU.

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Pied counters caught in a battle between coffee stains and fading pink plastic lined the coffee shop where Lovino slumped over his expresso, seeking mitigation against the harsh reality of another morning.

He came to work out of habit. No one visited this region anymore; most the shops had closed in a matter of weeks. A sparse few lingered, but only to pass through, and the coffee shop grew lonelier yet, until Lovino could count the hours between customers, bored with his own thoughts and a frown.

Mostly he just sat.

Caught in quiescence, cradling the waning heat of his mug between his hands, he'd watch the sun struggle across the street, seeping into the cracks between buildings, scraping over forgotten garbage spilling out of alleyways. Dust did not dance in the light here, but floated as if transfixed. Perhaps caught in time and unwilling to settle down and die.

"Everything must return to dust," Lovino muttered—didactic words from his grandfather, also long gone. His brow scrunched and he shoved himself upright to scrub at the counter. His fuming lent harshness to his reach. "But hell if I know when it's time for something to die or if there's a fighting chance." Eventually he flung the rag down on the floor and kicked up more dust on his way to the coffee machine. It had boiled down to sludge in the pot, the glass dangerously close to cracking. With another sigh, he wrenched it free and rinsed it out to begin another round of coffee.

Bells murmured at the scraping of a door. Lovino's head jerked up, but he looked away sharply as not to betray interest.

He'd seen this man before, a soldier, silver white hair contrasting with eyes blazing with contumacious youth. It had been months since he'd last come in, and Lovino had assumed that he'd gone back on duty from what he'd gathered from snatches of eavesdropped conversations. The disappearance of this man marked the first time Lovino noticed how quiet the shop had gotten, even when other customers still frequented. There was something about his barking laugh and overly exaggerated stories that had become a part of the shop itself, crucial to each morning. Comfortable. Perhaps that was the augury of decline.

"Yeah, yeah—" he barked on the phone. Somehow he managed to wedge it between his shoulder and his ear so he could drag his suitcase through the door. "It just doesn't seem like a solvent option—um, hell no—" He gritted his teeth and shrugged at Lovino, eyes twinkling. "Fuck you too." Though it took some rearranging, he managed to snap his phone shut and make it to a stool near the front window.

He looked up at Lovino. "It's not very busy today, is it."

Chary, Lovino shook his head. "It's almost lunch time."

The soldier matched Lovino's shrug with one of his own. "So, coffee then?"

"Yeah, whatever," Lovino muttered. "It'll be ready in a minute." He punctuated his answer with a scowl to offset a sudden bout of shyness. "The hell have you been lately?" He spoke in the vacuum of silence created after the loud grinding of coffee beans, the pungent smell pushing away some of the gloom. The coffee machine gurgled to life.

"Huh? What? Oh, um," A crooked grin lit up his face. "So someone realized I was gone then."

Lovino shrugged.

"Just the normal shit. They promoted me despite the fact that I'm an asshole." His grin grew ever wider in response to Lovino's incredulous stare. "I directly defied orders, but I got shit done. Long story." He sniffed appreciatively at the cup Lovino set near him, ignoring how the other was determined to look anywhere but at him. "But this shit war is basically over, I think, so I guess I'll be hanging around a lot more." He took a sip.

"Fucking war…" Lovino muttered back. He willed the dull burn in his cheeks to quiet down. "But…if you need a place to stay or whatever."

Shit. The words had escaped him before he could filter them, and next thing Lovino realized he was looking for ways to play off the rejection. Offering his place to a stranger who he'd only watched from afar?

The soldier blinked, set his coffee down, then stood and scooped up the rag. "Hey, shit should pick up again soon, you know," he said, pushing past Lovino to wipe at the counter a bit.

Hurt scrunched at Lovino's brows as he gnawed on his lip. Surely there was no way—

"And," the stranger continued, "I should earn my keep if I'm staying with you. Tons of soldiers will be coming home, and this place looks like shit. Let me help you. The name's Gilbert, by the way. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

His movements kicked up a fresh swirl of dust. And this time it danced.


End file.
